The Price Of Freedom
by Jonathan
Summary: The harsh realities of war are revealed...
1. The Awakening

The Price Of Freedom  
Jonathan  
  
The American war cause has been faultering under Soviet pressure. America has found herself in the position of near destruction. Everything she stands for, freedom, peace, and humanity, will be for nothing, if she loses this war. The future of the world is at stake now. If America can not defeat the Russian Bear, then the rest of the Free World will plunge into the ideals set forth by the Communist Dialectic...  
  
Chapter 1, The Awakening  
Dawn breaks on an American Infantry Battalion, currently camped in Oklahoma. The GIs are busy with their morning duties- cleaning, breakfast, and burial of the fallen. As can be expected, morale is low for these men. Instead of living in a normal Army fashion, they live in a hastily constructed campground that is full of pestilence and disease. They have witnessed the Soviet onslaught first hand. Some of these men fought bravely, while most have died, for the Soviets take no prisoners in this war. That leaves no choice but to fight, or be destroyed. They are frightened, and for good reason. Some of these men have seen their own friends turn against them for no apparent reason.   
  
They had the misfortune to have to dispatch their friends themselves. What a sad fate that is, for anyone. Having to kill your own trusted companion, a fellow American, just like you. But you have to. It was either him, or you. That is what you're told in Basic Training. I remember distinctly what my instructor told me, "If you ever see anyone turn against you, kill him immediately, even if he's your best friend. He will kill you if given the chance." I asked him why that is, but the only response I recieved was an order to clean the barracks. I complied, still curious about what the instructor said. But that was such a long time ago...   
  
I have seen men slaughtered in almost every way. I have held my childhood friend in my arms, as he lay dying from numerous bullet wounds. He gave me the letter that he wrote to his family, which I doubt I will live to be able to give to them. I will never forget what he did, as he saved my life from a Russian soldier. The soldier turned to fire at me, and my friend pushed me out of the way, taking quite a few bullets in the process. I fired into that soldier's chest, watching him fall over to the ground. I walked over to the dying Russian, watching blood stream out of his mouth, as he seemed to be praying. I allowed him that much, before I shot him in the head. Returning to my friend, who lay in now blood soaked dirt, I cried for him. But I knew what he had died for, as did every person who fought for America.   
  
Gunshots cut off my thinking for the time being. It appears that a Soviet force is moving through our area. I ready myself, as I join the others behind our pitiful sandbag bunker. Machine gun at the ready, I look for what is coming. The only thing that betrays the presence of Russian armor are the Harriers attempting to soften them up for us. I watch the planes attack the tanks in the distance, observing missiles fly from the ridge, making the aircraft become the next casualties in this bloody war. Quite suddenly, Conscripts appear out of nowhere, and begin moving up the hill to where we have entrenched ourselves. My fellow soldiers fire on the Russians, cutting them into pieces of flesh that now lay on the ground. I look through the gun's sights, and I see several of the soldiers there. I fire on them, watching as they are torn apart by the bullets which strike them. Chunks of flesh careen through the air, and one lands on my shoulder. We continue to fire, but it is to no avail, there are too many of them. One by one, GIs fall to the Russian aggressors, but I keep firing, showing no mercy to these men, these men who destroy what I hold dear. I feel an extreme pain in my abdomen, and I want to curl up, to keep myself from passing out into oblivion. But I fight on, as I continue to fire on the Russians. One soldier after another falls to me. Another pain moves through my side, but I keep fighting. I will never surrender. More of my friends have now died, and there are only a few remaining to fight.  
  
I do not have the time to think about them, even though I know they died horribly. I look down for a second, and I see a long river of blood coming from my dead friends. I glance at my wounds, and my blood joins theirs as well. I feel another extreme pain in my chest, and I can no longer muster the will to fight. As I lay dying, I roll over onto my side, and cough blood over the red stained dirt. I look over to see the American flag being run over by a small group of Soviet tanks that have just breached our position. I look up, only to see soldiers running over my body, causing me more pain and anguish. Now the time has come for it to end. I take out my letter to my mother, reading what she will not. Holding it against the sun, I cry at what America will come to, and I refuse to take part of it. With my wounds growing worse every second, I finish reading my letter. A Russian soldier notices what I am doing, and walks over to me. Laughing, he takes my letter from my hands, and I look him in the eye. I begin to cry again, and his expression becomes one of sorrow, instead of humor. He hands me his pistol, and I take it. With my hands shaking tremendously, I pray for America, and for my family. I shoot myself in the head, and the world is no more, to me... 


	2. The Aftermath

Chapter 2, The Aftermath  
  
Smoke clears over the defeated American fire base, flowing gracefully into the sunlight, the deathly smoke that the men saw last. Russian soldiers now occupy the American base, throwing their lifeless corpses over the ridge. The GI's eyes now stare blankly into the void, many of whom didn't live longer than a few seconds. Blood empties from some of the dead men's heads, bullets that cleaned the brains from their skulls. They lay on top of each other, the common men of America, who died together. The Russians finish clearing the bodies from the base, and begin work on a new one. Laughs arise from the soldiers, who mock the American war cause. Unknown to them, some Americans successfuly escaped the melee, only to be caught between the battle lines and the wilderness...  
  
I am one of the last survivors. The Soviets overran our position, quickly eliminating anything that stood in their way. I was fortunate, because I ran from battle with a few others. We had no chance of surviving if we had stayed. I thought it better to run, and fight in a better position. Our makeshift squad has been doing it's best to survive. Every so often, we had the misfortune to run across a Russian troop or two, but they were quickly eliminated. There's no shortage of supplies, for we get our ammunition from the dead soldiers that we befall. I would rather not do this, but we have no choice.   
  
It's been almost a week since that dreadful battle, and we've found no one from it that survived. I guess we're lucky, in a sense. Smoke rises over the horizon, and we cautiously walk over to it. The smell of death no longer hangs in the air, yet I smell only food...  
  
We get to the top of the ridge, and crawl to see what is hiding below it. Our men shout with pleasure, seeing Americans down there. The GIs, not being combat-ready at the time, were somewhat shocked to hear shouts from out of nowhere. They rush over to us, and help our battle scarred soldiers get medical attention and warm food. I tell them everything, from how the battle looked to be ours, then Russians just kept coming and coming until they overwhelmed us. Soon afterwards, they slaughtered everyone but our small group of five. We managed to escape, but we lost a few men in the process.  
  
We stayed with that company, who helped recover our health and returned us to fighting status. We learn of the state of America now, and she is beginning to take back what was hers. We have stopped the Soviets at almost every major battle, and we are pushing them back, out of our country.  
  
The next day, we move out to another position, but this company is a mechanized infantry division, and we have the fortune to ride in our own personal IFV. The tanks are in front, leading us to our next battle. As far as I know, we are in the northern section of Texas, for the US Army has gotten a good hole punched in the Soviet lines.  
The vehicle bumps along the road, as I keep my gun turret stable over the rough terrain, wary of an ambush.  
  
I watch the tanks ahead, moving through the brush, oblivious to any danger they may face. I prepare myself to fight, as a Russian motorized rifle division is trying to move through the area. S-2 intelligence shows the Russian movement towards a large canyon, and will be an easy target to ambush. The vehicles come to a stop at the edge of the canyon, and I depart the IFV to construct a machine gun bunker. "Soon", I say to myself... "Soon they will come, and I will make them pay for what they did to us". My companion looks at me, saying "Lets kick some ass, man!" I nod at him, and soon I hear the sounds of tank engines, rumbling in the distance. The infantry advance, and the tanks open up with their machine guns, cutting them down into bloody shreads. I hear a huge explosion, and a Russian tank turns into a fireball. Another explosion rocks the canyon. I hear men scream, and I fire down into it. Another large explosion, followed by one of our Harriers turning a Russian tank into a scrap of metal. The companion aircraft makes another pass at the canyon, firing it's load of missiles at the defenseless armor. The rock walls glow with the force of the explosions, causing me to shield my eyes from the intense light. Some troops manage to survive, and I fire at them, hearing more horrible screams, followed by a deathly silence. I walk to the edge of the canyon to check for survivors, seeing a few soldiers crawling painfully across the sand. I raise my weapon, and end their suffering. Mumbling under my breath, "Thats what you get, you bastards", I get back into my IFV. Finally, revenge is mine... 


	3. Priceless Freedom

Chapter 3, Priceless Freedom  
  
Soon after that battle, our company gets wonderful news. The Soviets are now being pushed back into Mexico, and finally out of our country. The soldiers cheer with joy, knowing that they will make it back alive. However, the recent loss of Chicago still lays heavily on my heart. My wife died in that city, but her death was quick. I have only hatred for the Soviet Union, the country that destroyed everything close to me. My wife, incinerated in an atomic fireball, never knowing what was to destroy her. I feel so helpless. God have mercy on her, please...  
  
My service was finally terminated, a year later. After 16 years of faithful duty for America, I can not return home, since I have none. Everything I owned was with my wife when the nuclear devastation obliterated it. I... I have to move on. I must, for there is nothing else I can do.   
  
I attended the funeral for my wife a few days later, crying at the though of never seeing her beautiful face again. She was what I lived for. I have nothing now. The pastor talks quietly in the background, speaking of her life. I whisper my final words to her, laying down flowers on her freshly dug grave. Walking away, I join my children in a loving hug, as we walk off towards a new day... I love you, Angela, and my love for you will never die. I'll be with you once again...  
  
I return to my son's house in Panama City. I unpack my luggage, and walk out to the beach, thinking of Angela the whole while. Looking at the Sun set over the emerald green water, I only see her. The Sun recedes slowly, and I look up, seeing the stars and planets shine through the night, oblivious to what happened to us. I think for a long time, noticing that the Universe will always ignore our petty wars, and continue to expand to infinity. The stars seem to be brighter than when I left to fight, but I tell myself it's just an illusion. Thinking of Angela again, I fall asleep listening to the gentle waves flowing on the shore... 


End file.
